Daughters of Charon
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: AWE, no OST. Her boyfriend was questionably moral, immortal, and always coming up with bizarre new schemes to amuse himself; really, someone should have guessed sooner.
1. Daughters of Charon

**Title**: Daughters of Charon 

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Summary**: B:tVS, PotC. _As the date of The Visit loomed closer, Buffy grew more and more distracted, arguing with herself whether she really was going to show up this time_. 1700 words.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen", with references from Angel Season 5 and no comics canon; "Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End" (2007)

**Notes**: Challenge entry. Don't ask where this one came from.

* * *

"_Time allows  
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs  
Before the children green and golden  
Follow him out of grace_."

--From "Fern Hill", by Dylan Thomas

* * *

As the date of The Visit loomed closer, Buffy grew more and more distracted, arguing with herself whether she really was going to show up this time. She barely remembered the guy, after all; the last time she'd seen him had been nearly twenty years before, when she'd been a five-year-old girl more concerned with the sand getting into her pretty shoes than whoever the strange person in weird clothing her mother had dragged her to meet might be.

She still didn't know exactly who he was, though she had a pretty good idea. Her mother had only told her that he was somehow related to their family, and that he was the captain of an old-fashioned sailing vessel with a very irregular schedule. Despite being standoffish-- he had only agreed to attend a reunion once every ten years-- he was apparently worth the aggravation, because her mother had been very disappointed to miss him the year Buffy was fifteen. Given the vampires, and the divorce, and everything, Joyce had sent an apology with a few cousins who were planning to attend. Buffy had been too caught up in her own problems to care then, and had barely noticed when Turner Day slipped by unmarked.

She knew when he'd be showing up next, though. Her mother had made sure to mention the date at least once each year after that, counting down until the next meeting with a wistful enthusiasm Buffy had never seen directed toward any of their other relations. She'd even made a curious comment once about him, or at least Buffy had assumed it to be about him, after she'd been out to dinner and had a little more than usual to drink: "I really shouldn't have been so surprised about the vampires, I suppose, growing up a Turner, but really, they're so-- Dracula! Hank convinced me you were just delusional, making things up from your nightmares." Later, however, she'd been unwilling to speak on it further.

There _was_ a legend about a family named Turner in the Watcher's Council's books, actually; Buffy had had Giles look it up as a curiosity, wondering what her mother could have meant. It had all been too fantastical to believe, though, involving at least two William Turners sailing on the actual Davy Jones' ship, an immortal pirate called Captain Jack Sparrow, an angry sea-goddess, and a Pirate King named, of all things, Elizabeth who had produced exactly three children at intervals of ten years while guiding the pirate community through its declining years in the Caribbean. Even the Watchers considered the story to be something on the order of a fairy tale.

Still, given everything her mother had-- and hadn't-- said, the possibility did exist that her mystery relative was the legendary Captain Will Turner, doomed to sail the seas collecting souls for eternity-- except for stops every ten years to see how his family was doing. It would fit very tidily into the life of a girl who'd been chosen as Slayer at the age of fifteen, whose first romance had been an actual Romeo and Juliet affair, and whose sister was the magically-created Key to the universe. So when the Day came again at last, Buffy let her curiosity get the better of her, threw caution to the wind, and took a plane back to the States, where she rented a car and drove it down to the secluded, private beach her mother's family owned.

The first thing she noticed as she parked her car above the beach was the ancient wooden ship riding at anchor a short distance out, visible over a narrow stretch of sand where a knot of people gathered. Great-aunts and uncles and cousins and second cousins she hadn't seen in forever were all clustered around a tall man she couldn't properly see at that distance. She descended the path toward that section of the beach with a slightly wild pulse, caught up in the drama of the event despite her intention to remain guarded and wary.

If the stories were right, the man she was about to meet was several hundred years old; older than Spike at least, and probably Angel too. Not to mention, he was as undead as they were-- no doubt why her mother had been cautious about sharing the full story with her. Slayer prejudices, et cetera. There was a significant difference, though, according to the legend; the Captain of the _Dutchman_ had never been soulless. The curse on the ferryman's ship had supposedly required the removal of his physical heart, but not his spiritual one.

There was no telling how true that was, though, given the number of Things out there that could masquerade as human. Besides which-- how could a guy with no heartbeat have conceived three children, anyway? Maybe Buffy wasn't such a freak, after all; maybe her taste for pulseless men was genetic? She gave a hysterical little giggle at the thought.

Unexpectedly, her nerves settled a little as she got closer. He hadn't seemed very impressive when she was a child, though she _did_ remember liking the bandanna he wore over his dark hair. Maybe she just hadn't known what to look for, though. The closer she got as she approached him over the sand, the more her attention was drawn to him. He was wearing an open, maroon sailor's shirt above dark trousers, showing off his tanned, scarred chest; the early morning light glinted from a golden earring and the white of his smile. Buffy felt like she was only seeing him in tiny pieces, as if he was impossible to appreciate fully as the sum of his parts; the phrase "larger than life" came to mind.

She tried to remind herself he could easily be some kind of sea-demon keeping her family in thrall somehow, but the thought kept slipping away; it was as though some greater pressure, some higher Power, was leaning on her and telling her subconscious to trust him. That should have worried her, too, she knew-- but it didn't.

She knew the instant he spotted her. He froze a little when he caught her gaze, his dark eyes glittering a little in his tanned face, and he dispersed the people standing between them with a few murmured words.

She'd worn a white blouse that day, bound with a long brown leather vest over matching leather pants; her boyfriend Giacomo had recommended the outfit when she'd mentioned the name of the beach she was going to, and coaxed her into leaving her hair down, long and loose. It hadn't sounded very comfortable for such a long trip, but she'd tried it out just to humor him; he'd appeared behind her while she stood before her dressing mirror, and stared for several long, silent minutes at their combined reflection. There had been something sad and terrible in his eyes. When she'd asked him what was up, he'd just shaken his head, muttered "Turners" under his breath, and walked out without looking back. She hadn't seen him again before she left, either. He must have known a Turner ancestress who resembled her; that was the only answer that made sense.

"You're Joyce's daughter, then?" Captain Turner asked as Buffy reached him, and he took one of her hands in his. "I'd recognize you anywhere."

She stared in amazement as he kissed the back of her hand, then blushed as the female relatives clustered around them tittered at the gesture. "Yes," she said. "I don't know if you've heard--"

"I've heard," he said gravely. "My descendants have seldom settled beyond the reach of the sea; Calypso always carries me word of their fates. I am sorry for your loss."

"Th--thank you," she replied, momentarily caught off guard by the deep well of sympathy in his eyes. They seemed older than the rest of him, far older; she'd never seen eyes so old on anyone she'd ever met, human or not. "I-- my sister couldn't come this time either; she's sitting her exams."

Not that Buffy had asked her to. She probably would next time, though; now that she'd had a few minutes to adjust to the weight pressing against her senses, she could feel no actual malice in him, nor the patron he served, not like what she'd picked up from Glory or what she'd heard of Jasmine. He felt _wild_ but solid somehow, like a hallowed standing stone or an ancient tree, a part of the fabric of the supernatural world despite his human origins.

He smiled again at her comment. "Dawn, for the flash of green on the horizon; very aptly named. I saw her five years ago, though she does not remember it."

Buffy jerked her hand out of his grip, startled by the implication; it felt as though a bucket of icy seawater had been dumped over her. "I'm not sure what you--"

"They call me the Ferryman for a reason, you know," he interrupted, teasingly. "Though for a moment when I saw you, I thought another soul had slipped back into the world without my knowledge: your mother knew what she was doing when she named you after my Elizabeth."

"You can blame Giacomo for the look," she said shakily. "He's the one that suggested the outfit. I guess he must have known her; she was pirate royalty for awhile, wasn't she?"

"You know your history," he said approvingly, raising an eyebrow at her. "But it's unlikely he ever met her, unless--" He paused for a moment, then laughed abruptly. "Giacomo. Jack. I might have known. It's been some time since I last saw him. How has he been?"

"Questionably moral, immortal, and always coming up with bizarre new schemes to amuse himself?" she said, lightly, remembering the incident with the severed head-- and everything she'd heard about him, Darla, and Drusilla.

"Definitely Jack," he said, and shook his head. "When you go back, tell him Will said to treat you well-- and that he's to come along, next time. I've missed him, scoundrel that he is."

"I will," Buffy promised.

She'd have a lot of other things to say to the man, too.

--


	2. Witty Jack

**Title**: Witty Jack

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: B:tVS, PotC. _For what we want most, there is a cost must be paid in the end_. 3100 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen", with references from Angel Season 5 and no comics canon; "Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End" (2007)

**Notes**: For glitterangelem, who requested "Buffy/PotC, Buffy/Jack. Romance or friendship." Also a sequel to "Daughters of Charon". Someone once asked me why Jack would ever settle down in Rome; here is a possible answer.

* * *

"_It's not about living forever, Jackie. It's about living with yourself forever_."  
--Captain Teague

* * *

After what felt like an hour of sitting in a narrow, cramped seat with her eyelids clamped determinedly shut, Buffy Summers gave up on seeking refuge in a nap. Airplane rides had never exactly been fun for her, but ever since she'd found and activated the Slayer Scythe her supernatural instincts and senses had sharpened enough that every minute spent in the air became an exercise in endurance. She knew that if she could just let go she would be able to sleep, but she couldn't seem to relax; her muscles twitched with the restless desire to burst free of captivity, and her head throbbed with the sounds and scents of far too many people packed in far too small a space.

Slayers hadn't been created with modern technology in mind, she thought tiredly, staring out the small, clear window at a vast, gray bank of cloud fogging by. It reminded her of the sea, and of another being pursuing his duties far past his appointed time, and she smiled wanly, thinking of all she'd have to tell her sister when she got back to Rome.

"Don't forget witty Jack," a heavily accented voice whispered in her ear.

Startled, Buffy glanced over her shoulder at the empty seat next to her; but it remained unfilled. The seats before and behind her were filled with sleeping passengers, and the drink cart had already gone by; there was no one near who could have spoken, no faces turned in her direction.

"Willow?" Buffy murmured to herself, reaching for the next most likely alternative.

There was a moment of silence; warm, amused silence, that felt strangely familiar. Then the voice spoke again, deliberately skewing her comment for its own purposes. "You ask if Jack wear de willow? A wise question, sea's daughter; for de answer will affect all your choices."

"What answer? What choices?" Buffy asked, frustrated, as she glanced around the cabin again. If there wasn't anyone on the plane she recognized, and it wasn't Willow trying to contact her mind-to-mind with her witchy power, then the likelihood of it being a bad guy talking to her was pretty high. Well, either that or the Powers That Liked To Play Games With Buffy's Life; and Buffy knew which she'd rather it be.

The plane dipped a little in the air, once, then again; Buffy's stomach swooped, and her eyes snapped back to the window as the voice calmly replied. "There was a girl, once, who became de King of all de oceans; there was a boy, once, who became de priest of all de seas." Light flickered out among the clouds, and for a moment the shape of a woman's face was backlit amidst the vapor. "And before them both was him precious Pearl."

The face was like, though not identical to, that of Sineya; deep-eyed, tattooed, curved with fierce femininity, and framed by a gnarled fall of dreadlocked hair. It was the Powers, then, much as Buffy might wish otherwise; and from the tales she'd heard the day before, she knew which one this had to be. Not the patron and origin of Slayers she'd met before, but the goddess who ruled the seas and watched over the Turner line.

"The Black Pearl," Buffy murmured, naming the ship that had featured in many of her ancestor's tales. Reading them from the pages of the council's texts had been one thing; hearing them recounted by Captain William Turner of the _Flying Dutchman_ himself, they had taken on a weight that dragged at her soul. For by his accounting, her Giacomo, her Immortal, had once been a legendary pirate captain, far more notorious in certain supernaturally-aware circles than the relatively harmless, neutral philanderer he pretended to be now. Calypso was right; the true identity of Jack Sparrow, and the real reasons he'd attached himself to the distant daughter of William Turner and Elizabeth Swann, would seriously affect which path she chose for her future.

"De Black Pearl," Calypso agreed. "For her, he promise his soul to Davy Jones; but by the actions of William Turner and his bride was he freed from that price." Her face swirled into being in the clouds again, a wry, knowing smirk curving her lips. "And where is his ship now?"

Not in Italy, Buffy knew. She'd never so much as accompanied her current lover to the beach; whenever she went to sunbathe he sent his guards with her instead, always with the excuse of 'other business'. Nor was the Pearl's fate recorded anywhere in the Council's books. Jack Sparrow had had a hand in replacing Davy Jones with her ancestor, then found another means of achieving his own immortality-- and promptly dropped off the map, surfacing only very rarely over the following centuries.

She remembered the look in Giacomo's eyes when he'd gazed over her shoulder into her dressing mirror just before she'd flown west for the family gathering; remembered the way the name 'Turner' had fallen from his lips, heavy as an anchor. Her heart sank. "He wasn't allowed to keep it, was he?" she asked.

"For what we want most, there is a cost must be paid in de end," Calypso said, solemnly.

"And what did he want most?" Buffy breathed, certain she knew what it must be. Calypso's question about the willow suddenly made sense; people 'wore the willow' when they'd lost a lover, or been forsaken by one. In pursuing what he'd thought he wanted, Jack Sparrow had lost everything that truly mattered to him, as much as anything had ever mattered to the pirate captain. How much had that loss dominated his life since? Had he pursued Buffy for herself, or merely as a touchstone to the past?

"You know what it was," Calypso replied, a gently mocking note in her voice as she confirmed Buffy's fears. "He sought de Fountain of Youth. But de Timucua who held those lands had their own protector; and for his trespass Jack Sparrow was cursed to never touch de sea again, so long as de sacred waters run in his veins."

"So no more Pearl," Buffy said, dully. "No more Turners."

"Until now," Calypso said, materializing in the fog of water droplets one last time. "All these centuries, he maintain his distance; he claim no regret. I hear no word from him, not on de waves, not on de wind, until three days ago there come a change." Until Buffy had flown out in search of her heritage.

The plane broke abruptly out of the cloudbank, then; clear, early morning sunlight streamed in the window, breaking up Calypso's image as thoroughly as it shattered Buffy's dark mood. One last comment trailed behind the goddess, whispered in Buffy's ear; a comment that stayed with her all the rest of her journey, until she stepped off the last plane in Rome.

"And so I wonder, what would witty Jack give up for _you_?"

* * *

He was waiting for her when she stepped out the doors of the airport, lounging against the limousine the Council had sent as though he hadn't a care in the world. Buffy's heart leapt in her chest at the sight; he was as gorgeous as always, and his dark, lidded stare licked like fire against her skin, nearly erasing all thought of what she'd learned in the last forty-eight hours.

At the last second, however, she couldn't help but evade his welcoming kiss; she felt the brush of warm lips against her cheek instead and buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling deeply of his scent. Had the trace of salt water always been there under his cologne, or was she imagining things?

"Darling?" he asked, an uncharacteristically hesitant note in his voice.

"Giacomo," she murmured in reply, stepping back to get a good look at his face. What had he looked like back then, she wondered, in full pirate-y regalia? His hair would have been longer, of course; had he worn it pulled back under a bandana like Will Turner's? Had he grown a beard in place of his current neat goatee, maybe braided with decorative souvenirs from the cargoes he'd taken, set off by kohl under his eyes and heavy rings on his fingers? Was that when he'd learned to wield a sword so well?

"Yes, my dear?" he asked, wrinkling his brow in apparent puzzlement.

"You know, you've never told me your last name," she said conversationally, trying hard to keep any hint of accusation out of her tone.

He swallowed at that, but answered in his usual confident, cultured tones. "It never came up in conversation; I did not think it important."

He knew it; it was all true, and he _knew_ she knew now, the bastard. He was only waiting to see how she reacted. "Could it be Giacomo _Passero_?" she asked, pointedly.

He stared back for a moment, all the amusement and affection draining out of his expression. "So you know, then," he said, grimmer than she'd ever seen him; in that moment, his eyes looked as old as Will Turner's, and she could believe every story she'd ever heard of him. His accent had slipped, as well; the cultured, upper-class European tones melting away in favor of something rougher and vaguely British to her undiscerning ear. "And if you have the knowing of _that_, you ought know how to say it correctly. It's _Capitano_ Giacomo Passero, if you please."

"Not anymore," Buffy replied, softly, remembering the curse.

He flinched at the words, just a little, as though she'd struck him across the face; then those old, old eyes saddened with a grief she could almost feel beating against her skin. "No, not anymore." He stepped away from the limousine then, opening the rear door with a distracting flourish as he smoothed his face back into bland, peaceful lines. "Shall we go, then? I've made reservations for dinner at--"

"Jack," Buffy objected, hardly knowing what to say, only that she couldn't let him just dismiss the subject.

"Yes, my dear?" He was the perfect picture of calm patience-- except for his whitening knuckles on the edge of the car door.

"Will said he missed you," she told him, and as she spoke, something else clicked into place in her mind; she hadn't been able to figure out what Calypso's motivations were for their little in-flight heart-to-heart, but of course her concern was her captain; had always been her captain. And Will Turner wanted his friend back. "He said you were a scoundrel, and that you'd better take good care of me, but that he missed you; and he wanted you to come along, next time."

"Did he now," Jack replied, blandly, as though he hadn't a care in the world. "How nice of him."

"Of course he did," Buffy smiled wryly at him, feeling herself on firmer ground. Calypso hadn't been trying to warn her away, after all; she'd been trying to encourage Buffy, in her own creepy Power-y way. "You're Captain Jack Sparrow."

He blinked at that; then he snorted, and cracked a genuine grin, wide and bright enough that Buffy almost expected to see a flash of gold tooth in his smile. "And don't you forget it," he said.

She finally approached the car, then, and let him hand her onto the smooth leather seat; she took a moment to arrange her skirt on the seat, then reached up to let down her hair as he slid in beside her. When she looked up again, finger-combing the snarls out of her long blonde tresses, he was watching her again with the same achingly hungry look she'd seen in her mirror a few days before. "I remind you of her, don't I?" she asked.

"The indomitable Elizabeth?" he replied, as the limousine began to move. "No, not at all; and yes, of course you do. You're better with a sword than she was, but she was better at politics. First time in our history the King of the Brethren Court ever did more than just order up a war. 'Course, that might've been because the last one got himself killed before he could stir up more trouble, but there you have it. I wonder what she'd say if she knew one of her daughter's daughters was the first Slayer to rule her own kind, however poorly?"

"Poorly?" Buffy pouted at him, playing along. "Hey, just because I came to Rome instead of staying at the new headquarters in England--"

"If the slipper fits, love," he parried with a smirk.

If the shoe fits. Buffy's teasing smile faded as she thought again about what Calypso had told her. Jack had just compared her to her ancestress, the pirate King; but a more accurate comparison might be made between Buffy and Jack himself. At one point in her life, Buffy had thought she wanted to be a normal girl more than anything else in all the world, and had pursued that goal despite all warning signs to the contrary. Jack had done the same-- and actually made it to his. Did he regret succeeding as much as she would have? Inquiring minds wanted to know.

"Speaking of love," she said lightly, reaching out to grasp his hands. "I spoke with Calypso on the way home."

His expression shuttered again instantly, as his grip tightened around hers. "Then you know that, too," he replied, narrowing his eyes. "My, my, weren't you the industrious little detective while you were gone."

"I know that you feared death more than you loved the Pearl, or the sea, or your friends," she continued. "Is that still true? We've been together three years, longer than I've ever dated anyone else, and in all that time you've never said you loved me. Jack, if you're just with me because I'm a Turner--"

He rolled his eyes at that and assumed a condescending air. "You irritating little wench, of course I'm not with you just because you're a Turner. That came as a rather unpleasant surprise, actually. I picked you out because you were a Slayer; because you were interesting; and kept you because you're spectacular in bed. The rest of it--" He waved a hand in the air. "If I ever had a true love, it was the Pearl; she accepted no substitutes while I sailed her, and she's spoiled me for anyone else now that I can never have her again."

Buffy's pride smarted a little at his dismissive enumeration of her attractions, but she resolved to ignore it; she'd stung him worse, obviously, given the passion in his voice. She'd never heard him so angry before. "Then why don't you just _break the curse_?" she asked.

"Break the curse?" he asked blankly, then chuckled bitterly to himself, letting go of her hands and leaning back against the seat. "Break the curse, she says. As if it's that simple."

"Isn't it?" she asked. "Calypso said it only lasts so long as 'the sacred water runs in your veins.' Isn't there a way to-- let it out?"

"Let it _out_? You mean, in some way other than letting all the blood out with it? Which doesn't work, by the way." Jack shook his head. "Besides, it's not like there aren't _compensations_," he added, dropping his gaze to linger on her legs. "I have all the swag, the rum, and the women I could ever ask for, just for the asking, just because of what I am. Jack Sparrow may have been a lucky son of a pirate, but he was still a thief and a beggar. Why would I ever want to give all this up?"

"Because you'll still have me," Buffy replied, just as fiercely. "Because I care about you for more than _what_ you are; I gave you my cookies because you're good to my sister, because you make me laugh, because you're hot-- and because you make me feel like I'm someone _worth loving_."

"What does _any_ of this have to do with cookies?" Jack replied, completely avoiding the subject. "Unless they're rum cookies. Are they rum cookies?"

"_Yes_, they're rum cookies, if that's what your favorite is," Buffy said, exasperated. "And stop making with the distractions; it's annoying, and you know how I get when I'm annoyed."

"Maybe that's the idea," he replied.

"Then maybe you'd better get another idea," Buffy said, hotly. "Look, you can say 'I need some more time to think about this' if you need to. But if it's definitely going to be a 'No, ma'am', you'd better tell me now. This is the only 'Get Out of Jail Free' card you're going to get; if you break my heart later, I'm going to sic Dawn on you."

"Well, we can't have that," he said, and reached up to trace the planes of her face with callused fingers. "So, just assuming that I did say yes. Would you sail with me, love?"

"Can I take my cell phone with me? And stop at all the tourist ports to go shopping?" she asked, still too irritated to just give in gracefully.

"I'll take that as a yes, then, shall I?" Jack chuckled, dropping his hand down to her shoulder to tug her closer.

"Is _that_ a yes, then?" Buffy fired back, scooting back out of reach.

"It's a 'definitely maybe'," he replied, scooting closer to her instead. "Let's see if it's even possible to break the curse, first. And why not look for some other way we could both live forever, while you're at it?"

"And what would you be willing to trade away for your immortality the _next_ time?" she asked, eyebrows raised as she felt her back press up against the limo's opposite door.

"Point," he conceded, leaning forward until he was murmuring directly in her ear. "I'll think of something."

"Well, while you're _thinking_," she said, deciding to quit while she was ahead, "do you think you could welcome me home properly? I'm still waiting for my hello kiss, you know."

"And whose fault is that?" he asked indignantly, eyeing her with a mischievous sparkle from close range before dipping down to kiss her somewhere that most definitely _wasn't_ her mouth.

As she arched into his touch, Buffy could almost swear she heard the tinkle of a music box playing softly somewhere in a minor key; then she lost track of anything beyond the confines of the car. She'd never been more grateful for the long drive between the airport and Giacomo's-- Jack's-- residence.

Maybe the Powers weren't so bad, after all.

-x-


	3. Bringing That Horizon

**Title**: Bringing That Horizon

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: B:tVS, PotC. _"S'pose that's appropriate," Giacomo said. "This compass has never pointed north in all the years I've owned it."_ 1000 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; through "Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End" (2007)

**Notes**: A fluffier interlude in the "Daughters of Charon" 'verse, written for the 2011 August Fic-a-Day. AU not including "On Stranger Tides".

* * *

_"Yo ho, yo ho  
A pirate's life for me."_  
-Elizabeth Swann

* * *

Willow bit her lip, surveying the circle one more time from her cross-legged position in the center. "I think that'll do it. A standard purification ritual wouldn't work, since the magical essence you absorbed _was_ pretty much as pure as it gets, but I think this variation will do it. Sea salt, coral, leather tie, piece of eight, pistol ball, splinter of planking, bottle of rum- anything else with strong associations with the pre-Immortal you would help, but this should be enough."

Giacomo cocked an eyebrow at her, then touched the case always dangling at his belt, a squarish thing he consulted secretively from time to time and Buffy had always thought must be an antique, oversized pocket watch. "How certain are you that no harm will come to it?" he asked, affecting disinterest. "Only, y'see, I might want to drink the rum afterward."

His accent kept shifting somewhere between the smooth European tones she was used to and Talk Like a Pirate Day; it made for uneven music to Buffy's ears, but she smiled to hear it all the same. She'd loved him already, but over the last few weeks, vast and entertaining depths had started opening beneath his charming surface; she had a feeling her life would be much more exciting now than it would have been if she'd never met her far-ancestor and the demi-deity who watched over his line.

"Abso-posi-lutely," Willow said, gesturing to a spot along the curve of the circle. "I left a space open at north; I had a feeling you might have something special to put there."

He snorted, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth, and detached the case. "S'pose that's appropriate," he said. "This compass has never pointed north in all the years I've owned it, unless it was by accident." He crouched down, placing it in the indicated position, then glanced back up at Willow.

"Perfect," the witch approved, smiling brightly at him.

Buffy frowned a little as she processed that, crossing her arms over her blouse. "Wait. So it's a compass? And a _broken_ one? What's so important about it?"

Giacomo switched his gaze to her, eyelids drooping a little in that smoldering way of his as a smug smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Let's see then, shall we?" he said, then flipped the lid up on the case, keeping a finger on the side while Buffy watched. The needle spun wildly for a second, then pointed... roughly in the direction she was standing, which was nearly the opposite of north.

"So... it's a south-south-east pointing compass?" she asked, frowning.

"Walk over that-a-way, then look again," he prompted her, making a shooing gesture with the beringed fingers of one hand.

She sighed, but obligingly took a few steps further from him, still watching the compass- then halted abruptly when she realized the direction was shifting. It was _following_ her.

"You see, then?" he said. "Has all sorts of uses; just not the ones you might expect."

"The enchantments on it are very, very sophisticated," Willow put in admiringly, "probably beyond my skill level even now. I bet if it were a mirror and not a compass, it would have the words '_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_' inscribed around the edge. Am I right?"

Giacomo snapped the compass closed again with a grin, then stood, brushing crystals of sea salt from the knees of his trousers and adopting his best cultured voice again. "Careful, Ms. Rosenberg; I believe the term is, 'your geek is showing'. But- yes. If whatever desire might appear in yon imaginary mirror at any given moment be a physical item, location, or being, the compass will invariably point in its direction."

Buffy felt heat rush to her face as the implications set in, and gave him a dazzling smile.

Willow glanced between them, her own grin widening. "Nifty," she said. "I can think of a few people in denial I'd like to loan it to later." Then she settled her seat a little more firmly on the ground, let her eyelids drift shut, and laid the backs of her hands on her knees as she concentrated.

"Yes; that will _definitely_ work," she added after a moment. "So, if you're ready..."

Giacomo took a deep breath, expression sobering as the weight of what he was about to do settled on him again, and he glanced over at Buffy, dark eyes distant they way they'd been before Turner Day when he'd sent her off wearing a near-replica of her pirate ancestress' favored outfit.

"It's not too late to change your mind," she told him softly, understanding. "But if this helps..."

Slowly, without breaking her gaze away from his, she walked around the circle, the heels of her boots clicking against the polished hardwood floor of Willow's study. Then she knelt, only a few inches from him, and opened the compass case with a careful touch of outstretched fingers, never looking away to see what it might show.

Being who he was, the first place his eyes darted away from hers was the plunging neckline of her blouse; but the moment he heard the lid open his gaze dipped further, and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

"What a man can do, and what a man can't do," he said after a moment, obliquely. Then he met her eyes again, a slight but determined smile lending an increasingly familiar madcap sparkle to his gaze. "Time for a new adventure, hey?"

She smiled back, then closed the compass and stood, drawing his mouth down to hers for one last kiss as The Immortal. Then he broke away and stepped into the circle, settling into a cross-legged position in front of Willow.

"Have at it, love. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Willow took a deep breath, and began her chant.

It was the day Buffy would always remember as the day she first properly met Captain Jack Sparrow.

-x-


	4. There's Always Got to Be a Captain

**Title**: There's Always Got to Be a Captain

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: B:tVS, PotC. _Jack wasn't the only man ever to make a bargain with the wrong devil._ 900 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; through "Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End" (2007)

**Notes**: Another piece of the "Daughters of Charon" 'verse, written for the August challenge, to move the plot forward a bit, finally ...

* * *

_"Turns out they can only undo you as far as you think you deserve to be undone."_  
-Lindsey McDonald, Angel 5.17 "Underneath"

* * *

"Giacomo," Buffy said, looking up at the sign over the door of the hardware store with a frown. Then she corrected herself, glancing over at him. "Jack? What are we doing here?"

He might still wear expensive Italian clothes and trim his goatee to the current fashion, but he really didn't look like a Giacomo anymore; there was something just that little bit wilder about him these days. Something looser in his walk, lazier in his smile- and darker around the eyes, as if he'd started filching kohl out of her makeup drawer.

She had some idea of what her boyfriend's answer might be, of course- despite his cagey behavior, it would have been hard not to guess why he might stop to pick up a "guest" on their way to "pay ol' William a visit like he asked," but she had no idea why he might think he could find someone willing and capable of taking over her ancestor's role in a place called Deerfield's in a little town in backcountry Oklahoma.

And that was before even taking into account whether or not William Turner would want to _stop_ captaining the _Dutchman_ in the first place. He'd been serving Calypso for several hundred years; what if he preferred that life to trying to start fresh ashore in a world unfamiliar to him? Even when his wife had been alive he'd never really fought the curse, according to his stories. It had only kept him from setting foot ashore, after all, and the last Pirate King had spent a great deal of her time on the water.

"I'm not the only man ever to make a bargain with the wrong devil," Jack replied, meeting her gaze with a rakish grin. "I heard through a friend of a friend about a man who was nearly murdered by _your_ devil, in fact; a man who'd do anything to avoid the fate he's duly earned, but isn't of the inclination to use said _anything_ to run roughshod over innocents, once he's done it. That's a rarer combination than you might expect. An opportunity not to be missed."

"By mine? What do you- _oh_." Buffy made a face. There was only one man in her past that could be described as a 'devil' who'd ever really been in a position to make powerful bargains, but she liked to forget that whole Wolfram and Hart phase he'd gone through. Neither of them- or Jack, for that matter- had shown to their best advantage over the course of that year. A lot of good people had died. Some of them his. Some who might not've, if she'd trusted him enough to answer his calls. "He's one of Angel's?"

"Was, luv. Was. And I think they'd both quibble over the possessiveness of that label," he said. Then he turned to the door and pulled it open to the tinkle of an old-fashioned bell.

The man behind the counter was dressed like he belonged there, in blue jeans with a big silver buckle at the waist and a plaid shirt, but the minute he lifted wary blue eyes to look at the newest guests in his store, Buffy could see the mileage on him. She didn't recognize him... but he definitely recognized _her_, and from the way his spine stiffened and he tossed shoulder-length brown hair back over his shoulder, he didn't think she was necessarily one of the good guys.

"Well, if it isn't the Slayer," he said, curling his lip. "I expected Angel to track me down eventually, but I didn't expect him to send his ex. Should I be flattered that he thinks me that much of a threat?"

"Sorry to burst your bubble, mate," Jack said, stepping between them to break the man's line of sight, "but your Angel's got no idea we're here. Doubt he even knows you were faking when his man left you for dead."

"Yeah? Then why is she here? And who're you?"

"Someone who wants to offer you an opportunity, Mister McDonald; so perhaps you'd better look after your manners, savvy? You might know me as the Immortal- though that's not strictly the case, any more."

Mr. McDonald stiffened at the reference to Jack's former title in Rome, finally switching his attention fully away from Buffy. She wasn't sure whether to be flattered by that, or not. "What kind of opportunity? And how am I supposed to believe you are who you say you are, if you're not?"

Jack chuckled. "Hot and cold running everything gets a bit stale after a while, I've found," he replied. "But I suppose you won't believe that 'til you've had a chance to try it for yourself, eh? How d'you feel about a hundred years before the mast? A hundred years, minimum, 'til your former employers have a chance to activate that fancy clause in your contract?"

"I thought you worked _with_ Wolfram and Hart, not against them."

"Only when it suited me, mate. Only when it suited me. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, or has the world forgot that name so easily?" Jack bared his teeth at the man in a feral grin, and Buffy could almost see the shadow of a tricorn hat on his head and the sparkle of gold in his smile.

Mr. McDonald sucked in a breath at that; apparently, he _did_ know the name. "I'm listening," he said.

-x-


End file.
